


put the lonesome on the shelf

by Hibou_Gris



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8906329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hibou_Gris/pseuds/Hibou_Gris
Summary: Gaby has plans, but a storm, a high fever and Solo's stubbornness are getting in her way.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [screamingarrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingarrows/gifts).



> Title is from "You and I" by Ingrid Michaelson.

“May I?”

Solo holds out his hand, palm up. Gaby eyes him, taps her fingernail against her glass, doesn’t look at Illya, but knows he’s watching them all the same.

Solo doesn’t flinch under her gaze; he never does. Just leaves his hand in the air between them, waiting. He’s a still figure in a room that’s a smoky, noisy blur, full of drunk tourists having a raucous night out.

Gaby leaves her glass on the bar and takes Solo’s hand. He pulls her away from the bar and into the crowd on the dancefloor, into his arms. He’s surprisingly warm – she can feel the heat coming off his skin through the thin fabric of his expensive shirt – and tall, though not as tall as Illya.

Solo’s a good dancer, which surprises her not at all. He maneuvers them effortlessly across the floor until they’re next to the table where their mark is leaning in close to a slim blonde woman.

Solo tilts his head towards Gaby’s, their cheeks just brushing, and Gaby shivers. She can hear the smirk in Solo’s voice when he asks, breath ghosting across her ear, “Anyone you recognize?”

Gaby shakes her head. She already knows it’s not any of the people on the lists of known agents that they’ve spent the last week poring over; it’s been the same every night so far. Their mark, the disreputable son of the British Foreign Secretary, has been drinking, gambling and womanizing in nightclubs all over Nice; while providing plenty of fodder for gossip columnists, so far he hasn’t show any sign that he’s the source of the leak, confidential documents turning up in the hands of anyone willing to pay.

Gaby doesn’t mind the waiting around, not when it means days at cafés by the seaside and nights out at wild parties, a chance for them all to relax just a fraction, although she can tell it’s driving Illya half-mad. And maybe Solo too, in a quieter way. He’s been blowing hot and cold for the last two days – either disappearing into his hotel room for hours at a time or, like tonight, behaving oddly solicitously, his usual polite flirtations intensifying in a way she’s never seen before. Or at least, has never seen directed towards herself and Illya.

Because it is directed at both of them, she’s almost sure of it. Which opens up all sorts of interesting possibilities, possibilities that she had been turning over in her head yesterday while sipping coffee on café patios, and lying splayed out across the cool sheets of her hotel bed.

She can’t help sneaking a look at Illya, back at the bar. He’s glowering at them, as she knew he would be. Gaby bites back the impulse to make a face at him.

Solo catches the direction of her glance and chuckles. “Am I making Peril jealous?”

“Yes,” Gaby says, and decides to hell with it, “but I think he’s just as jealous of me as he is of you.”

Solo twitches in her arms, misses a step in the dance. By the time he turns his head enough to look her in the eye, he’s wearing his most blandly neutral expression, but she can see still see it in his eyes – surprise, realization. He hadn’t known.

Gaby laughs, can’t help it – it’s such a treat to catch the great Napoleon Solo off-guard for once. Solo stops dancing and starts to pull away from her, and she catches at his arms, suddenly worried that he has missed her meaning. “Wait, where are you going –”

“I think I’ve had enough dancing for tonight,” Solo says, “you and Peril can finish out the rest of this shift.” The words are casual enough, but his smile is all wrong.

Gaby doesn’t stamp her foot but it’s a near thing. She tightens her grip on his arm and leans forward, hissing, “Don’t you want us?”

Solo raises his hand and rubs at his eyes, wincing. “Gaby. There are a lot of things that I want.”

“What does that mean?” Gaby asks, frustrated. She hadn’t thought Solo would be the difficult one.

Solo’s hand is still half-covering his face when he abruptly sways in place. Gaby pulls at his arms, instinctively trying to keep him from falling. He catches himself in time before they both topple over, straightening up with a gasp.

“What’s wrong, what’s wrong?” Gaby asks urgently. Some of the dancers next to them are starting to look over, and then Illya appears at their side, thank God, and puts a steadying hand on Solo’s shoulder.

“What is happening?” Illya asks.

“Nothing,” Solo says, shrugging his shoulder to try and dislodge Illya, and failing. Solo’s eyes are very bright and Gaby suddenly puts the clues together.

She pokes an accusing finger at Solo’s chest. “You’re ill, aren’t you? You’ve caught whatever that Duchess had, the one who fainted at the hotel.”

Illya frowns and puts his other hand across Solo’s forehead, ignoring Solo’s half-hearted attempt to dodge.

“Are the two of you competing for best impression of my mother?” Solo asks, eyebrows raised, but in the face of their twin glares, he shrugs and says, “I may be slightly under the weather.” Taking a quick step backwards, he slides out of Illya’s grasp and adds, “Which is why I’ll be retiring early this evening, so call my room if you need anything.”

Gaby starts to say, “But don’t you need –” medicine, a doctor, us? But Solo has turned away and is winding his way through the crowd towards the exit before she can get the words out.

She turns on Illya. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“I should have picked him up perhaps? Put him over my shoulder?” Illya says skeptically, but he watches Solo leave with a worried tilt to his mouth.

Gaby glances back at their mark, still chatting up his new pretty blonde acquaintance. “He’ll be fine for now, won’t he?”

Illya spares one more glance for Solo’s retreating back, then shakes his head. “We should stay here. Cowboy is a big boy, will be okay at the hotel.” He leans forward and places a tentative hand on her wrist, and all at once she wants to kiss him, huge fierce Illya whose eyes can be so soft.

“We will check on him tonight, once we get back, yes?” he says.

“Yes, we will,” Gaby says firmly. She doesn’t know all the things Napoleon Solo might want or not want, but what he has is the three of them together, their team. That won’t change.

 

* * *

 

The wind tugs at Gaby’s hair and dress as she and Illya hurry back to the hotel hours later; it’s just starting to spit droplets of rain and she can hear a low grumble of thunder in the distance. Their mark had gone home with the blonde and the whole night is a complete disappointment.

As they climb the stairs up to the third floor, the lights go out. Illya says something filthy in Russian and takes Gaby’s hand in the dark stairwell.

“It’s the storm,” Gaby says. “Let’s go to Solo’s room and steal all his candles.”

“He is probably asleep,” Illya says, but he sounds like he wants to be persuaded.

“If he’s asleep, he won’t care if we take his candles,” Gaby says, squeezing Illya’s hand.

They emerge from the stairwell into the narrow hallway, lit by dim rectangles of light coming through the windows at each end. Gaby knocks on Solo’s door once, twice, three times.

When there’s no answer, she calls softly, “Solo? Napoleon? It’s us, open the door.”

Illya adds, “Cowboy, Gaby wants to know that you are still breathing. And also if you have candles. Is very dark, if you haven’t noticed.”

There’s a quiet thumping sound inside, then silence.

Gaby bites her lip worriedly, and reaches into her handbag for the lock-picks she keeps there. She waits for Illya to object, but he says nothing, just watches as she slides the tools into the lock and listens for the telltale click of the catch.

She pushes the door open and pauses at the threshold, Illya at her back. The room is very dark, and she can’t tell if Solo is on the bed or not. “Solo? It’s us – Gaby and Illya. Are you alright?”

She can hear the rain hitting the windowpanes, the storm gaining force outside. And she realizes, she can hear breathing.

A flash of lightening illuminates the room for one clear bright moment, and Gaby sees Solo standing near the window on the far side of the bed. He’s watching them and his expression is lost. Then the light is gone and Gaby steps into the room, feels Illya following close behind. She opens her mouth to speak and thunder crashes into the room instead.

In the silence afterwards, she hears Solo say, “What are you doing here? Did they catch you too?”

“Catch us?” Illya asks, just as Gaby says, “We came to check on you!” Gaby stumbles further into the room, trying to remember the layout from the brief glimpse of the lightening flash. Behind her, Illya seems to trying to find the nightstand, the most likely source of candles in the room.

“You should get out, if you can,” Solo says, his voice hoarse and strange.

Gaby reaches out a hand and touches the edge of the bed. “I don’t understand, is something happening? Is there someone watching us?” She doesn’t know what to make of this – if they were in real danger, surely Solo would be hustling them out the door, would have a weapon in hand, would be providing some kind of coherent explanation rather than vague pronouncements?

“They’re the CIA, so probably,” Solo says, and laughs. He sounds like a man caught in a nightmare.

Another flash of lighting snaps the room into clear lines, and Gaby takes advantage of it to round the bed and come to a stop in front of Solo. She sees Illya standing by the nightstand with a candle in one hand, the other digging through his jacket for a lighter.

“Cowboy, where do you think you are?” Illya says sharply.

“It doesn’t really matter where, does it?” Solo says, and when the lightening flashes she can see the exhaustion on his face, the despair. “They lock you away somewhere and you never get out, so –”

“I don’t understand,” Gaby says again, and when the thunder rumbles with startling loudness she sees Solo jump and goes to him without a second thought. She wraps her arms around him and immediately realizes how ill he must be. His body is sweaty and radiating heat, and yet she can feel him shaking against her.

Slowly, Solo wraps his arms around her as well. “Gaby,” he says softly. “You shouldn’t be here.” He holds her tightly though, belying his words, and she lays her head on his chest.

“Of course I should be,” she says.

Illya lights a candle and then another, and the room is suddenly softer and safer with this flickering light, no longer divided between the enshrouding dark or the cold clear lighting flashes.

Gaby and Solo both turn towards him, and Illya looks at them seriously. “Solo, we are here for you. You are not locked up, we are in the hotel in Nice, but we would be here with you even if it was prison cell.”

“In the hotel?” Solo asks uncertainly, his hand going up to rub at his head.

“Yes, please, trust us,” Gaby says, guiding him with one hand towards the bed.

“I do,” Solo says, very low.

Gaby stops and looks up at him, and then go up on tiptoes and kisses him on the mouth. “Then let us take care of you,” she says.

Solo stares down at her, and then looks helplessly over at Illya, who is walking around the bed towards them and doesn’t look in the least surprised.

Illya reaches past Gaby to take Solo’s hand, lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss to the palm.

“The little chop shop girl is right,” he says, and Gaby smiles and leans up to kiss him too.

“I’m – I’m used to working alone,” Solo says, but it’s an apology, not a rebuff.

“Me too,” Gaby says, “but this is better.”

“You are stuck with us,” Illya says.

Solo closes his eyes for a moment. “Okay,” he says, “okay,” and when he opens his eyes some of the storm seems to have cleared away from them, and when he smiles it’s pleased and shy and like nothing Gaby has ever seen on Solo’s face before.

Gaby takes his hand and then Illya’s as well, her family all together, and listens to the soft clatterings of the thunder fading off in the distance.


End file.
